


and i ache (to remember)

by Pidonyx



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crew as Family, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Gen, Ghost Party Poison, Kinda, M/M, Post-SING (Music Video), SING (Music Video), THE KILLJOYS ARE NOT MCR, You’ll see, as in its told mostly through flashbacks, but they’re in there!!, dr d and pony and cherri are mostly just mentioned, the killjoys are all neurodivergent i wrote them that way on purpose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24441373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pidonyx/pseuds/Pidonyx
Summary: The Fabulous Killjoys die in Battery City saving the Girl from Better Living Industries.Party Poison’s mask doesn’t make it to the Mailbox until twelve years later.
Relationships: Agent Cherri Cola/Kobra Kid (Danger Days), Fun Ghoul & Jet Star & Kobra Kid & Motorbaby & Party Poison (Danger Days), Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days), Jet Star & Party Poison (Danger Days), Kobra Kid & Party Poison (Danger Days), The Girl & Party Poison
Comments: 16
Kudos: 25





	1. SING

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! this is the long project i’ve been working on/talking about since november!! i was initially going to leave off posting it until it was completely 100% done, and i was torn between posting it in chapters or leaving it as a (very long) one shot.......and then i finished the last of my college work last night and figured i might as well put this out there just so i actually have some motivation to finish it :D
> 
> this is my very first multi chapter fic so i’m! excited but also nervous bcs this is the biggest project i’ve ever done that wasn’t also a one shot. i will not have a consistent update schedule in all likelihood, but i’m going to try to write a lot more now that i’m done w my first year of college and i seemed to get a lot done even while i was in school so hopefully this will be wrapped up soon-ish
> 
> started off with mainly stuff i’m familiar w writing already but i am v v excited bcs this should b a nice chance for me to write the other characters that i’ve been neglecting :D
> 
> title is from come on get higher by matt nathanson

If you had asked Party Poison what death felt like, he would’ve probably said something like absolute nothingness. Forever. What he had not counted on — though he probably should have — was that not dying a natural death meant that it fucking  _hurt_. 

He’s still got the drac’s mask in his hand, can feel his hand shaking from where he’s gripping it. His raygun is on the floor, a splash of too-cheerful yellow against the white-ass floor in the white-ass room he’s pressed to the wall of. Korse is in front of him, eyes dark and empty like a shark’s, but Poison’s eyes flicker past him (it doesn’t matter. He knows he’s as good as dead) to see that the others have the Girl almost to the door.  _Good._ But then Kobra looks over his shoulder, and sees him, and  _fuck, no,_ he’s turning, and he’s lost his sunglasses somewhere in the clap, and his eyes are wide and scared and he looks young — too young — in the slightly grey lighting of the BL/ind fluorescents. He jolts forwards, in Poison’s direction, but there’s no time to try to stop him, Poison doesn’t even open his mouth before the barrel of Korse’s blaster is jammed into the base of his jaw and there’s a teeth-rattling blast of bright pain and that is where Poison would have expected that everything would just stop.

But it doesn’t — because Poison opens his eyes and he’s still here, and there’s Kobra, teeth gritted around a scream, blasting through dracs towards...Poison’s corpse on the floor. Slumped against the wall he was just against. And okay, if this was a different situation, maybe Poison would be a little more intrigued by that, but then Kobra catches a raygun blast — or four — in the chest, and crumples to the floor. No.  _No_.

He’s not dead — not yet, but he will be soon, and Poison looks for the other two,  _maybe they can get him, maybe his family can make it out even if he couldn’t,_ but no, there they are. Cornered by the door with the Girl, surrounded by dracs, and now that Poison is dead, they’re going to have an exterminator on them in a few seconds. 

If his heart hadn’t already stopped, Poison is sure it would have when Ghoul shoves Jet and the Girl through the door, turns, and raises his blaster.  _Not you too._

Ghoul is shot through the throat, slumping against the sheet glass and leaving a streak of red behind as he falls, but not before taking six dracs down with him. Poison’s nonexistent lungs feel like they’re collapsing in on themselves, but he swallows the feeling and prays,  _prays_ to the Witch that he barely believes in that at least Jet Star and the Girl survive.

They’re at the car, they’ve almost made it, the Girl’s face dusty even after days in the BL/ind facility, lines cutting through the grime though she isn’t crying any more at this point, and it’s caught somewhere between a scream and a shellshocked expression. Jet just looks tired and ashen, mouth in a grim line, the Girl’s small hand clasped tightly in his. They’re almost there. 

But there’s a swarm of dracs behind them, pouring out of the headquarters and every other white, identical building surrounding it, and they’re not going to get out of this. 

Jet just maneuvers the Girl behind him and levels his gun.

Dr. D’s van careens onto the scene as Jet hits the Trans Am’s hood, dead. The Girl is bundled into the back, Show Pony scooping her into their arms even as she stands there frozen, and then the door is slamming closed again and they’re tearing back out into the desert. 

The Fabulous Four are dead. But the Girl is alive. 

And Party Poison is...something.

*

He’s back out in the desert. He doesn’t really know how. He’s actually kind of surprised that he didn’t end up as one of the souls powering Battery City — he figures that’s what he must be: a soul, the imprint of what he was like when he was alive, because nothing else really makes sense — but then, he supposes, maybe that’s just for the souls lost to draculoid masks. Or maybe the City specifically farms them. Or maybe he just got lucky. He’s not a exactly a goddamn expert on life after death, or the Witch, and whatever she does. 

Then again, he’s not completely ignorant as to what’s  _supposed_ to happen after you die, and this is not it. He’s pretty sure the Witch is supposed to take you to the afterlife, or hell, or something, if you get dusted. Maybe because he died in the City? 

He’s wandering around what he thinks is probably approximately Zone 2. Battery City looms behind him a little too largely for comfort. But what are they gonna do to him now? He kicks at a slightly larger-than-average pebble and scowls as his boot passes right through it. Being dead fucking sucks.

If he’s still here, then where’s the rest of his crew? Poison watched the rest of them get ghosted right there with him in Batt City and, again, not an expert on how death is really supposed to work, but here  _he_ is, so.

Something is bothering him, a memory right at the back of his mind, even though maybe that’s not accurate because Poison’s like fifty percent sure he’s made of memories now or some bullshit like that. He kicks at the sand again. It’s about. Masks, maybe? And Cherri Cola.

Oh, right, Cherri. Poison hopes he’s taking care of the Girl now, since his entire crew is dead and he’s in like, a weird state of limbo. Even though he thinks that probably the Witch should’ve taken him by now. He kind of wishes Cherri was here — or not  _here_ here, because then Cherri would almost definitely also have to be dead — because Poison wasn’t the religious type but Cherri was, and he would know why Poison was fucking...stuck here and not passing on or- or something.

Cherri Cola with his superstitions, and his prayers to the Witch, and the Mailbox —  _shit_.

Oh, it would be the fucking Mailbox. The other three’s domino masks, their  real ones, those had been left back at the Diner, (because who needed those when Jet and Kobra had their helmets and Ghoul had his Frankenstein mask) but Poison’s iconic yellow mask was his signature, and you don’t need a rebreather in the City of all places. So it had been with him during the drive to Battery City at least, even if he sort of didn’t know what happened to it later — Destroya, for being made of memories (soul matter? This was fucking weird and he didn’t want to think about it too hard) he really was fuzzy on the details — and it had probably stayed wherever it had fallen, maybe even destroyed if Korse was feeling ruthless enough.

He’s sure that Cherri would’ve brought their masks to the Mailbox, that he wouldn’t leave them to be — well, that’s what he was now, wasn’t he, trapped in an in-between kinda state — and the other three’s masks would’ve been easy, all he would’ve had to do is get them from the box in the pantry tucked away in the Diner’s old kitchen where they’d put them before the suicide-slash-rescue mission to Batt City. But if Poison’s was in the City still...

Poison curses, stomping a circle in the sand uselessly, wishing that he could at least create some cathartically satisfying dust clouds for his efforts.  _Fucking. Hell._

Of all Poison’s shit luck, this is just about the worst thing that’s happened to him. Not least because it was the  _last_ thing that was ever going to happen to him. Being dead is bad enough. But the Girl had survived, and he had come to terms with dying in the space of time between his back hitting the wall of the BL/ind facility and having a laser blast sever his brainstem enough to hope that, on the off chance that Cherri’s beliefs about the Witch were true, he wouldn’t have to spend his afterlife alone. But that’s just how things are for him, aren’t they? Now his family has moved on, presumably, and he’s still half-here, wandering around the Zones like a blind drac.

There’s a slim chance that someone could, maybe, find his mask.  _If_ BL/ind hadn’t destroyed it and  _if_ , after that, they decided to toss it instead of keeping it like a trophy to gloat over their victory against the famed Fabulous Killjoys. And  _then_ , it would have to end up in the hands of a ‘joy who would actually take it to the ‘box, or Cherri, or Dr. D, and not just squirrel it away because it was the famous Party Poison’s  _actual fucking mask, what a find_ _._ Poison scowls. Popularity sucked sometimes. Sometimes.

Regardless, he was stuck, at least for the time being, and he could at least be grateful, he guessed, that he wasn’t powering some shitty nightclub sign in the Lobby and had the autonomy to be pissed off that he’d been left behind to haunt the Zones like a particularly fickle ghost.

Well. At least he could try and find some civilization, or whatever passes for that in the desert. If he was gonna be immortal and unable to interact with anything he could at least watch some random killjoys and try to derive some entertainment from that. He picks a direction at random — the only qualifier being “away from the city” — and starts walking.


	2. Ghoul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> being a ghost in the zones kind of sucks. especially when all of the people closest to you are dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is all of the writing i have on this so far! i have an outline (ABSOLUTELY unheard of for me) and i have a plan, so ik what’s coming next i just need to get cracking on it
> 
> hope this little/really big experiment in doing a chaptered fic is a success and i hope y’all enjoy :>

Poison isn’t meant for isolation. This is the first time he’s been alone in a long, long time, if not ever, and his thoughts keep drifting back to his crew, even though it hurts every time they do: Kobra’s face, split in a rare smile, as he squeezes Poison’s hand before dumping a palm’s worth of sand down the back of his jacket. Ghoul, laughing so hard that a disgusting mix of half-chewed Power Pup and water comes out of his nose, clapping a hand over his face and wincing. Jet, with a smile in his voice, solemnly placing a hand each on Kobra and Ghoul’s shoulders before pushing both of them into a dune.

Ghoul’s lips, chapped, scar tissue dragging against the corner of Poison’s mouth, not trying to fix the situation but make it a little more bearable,  _“they’ll be back, Pois, don’t give up on them yet”_. Jet’s shoulder, warm against his, as Poison cries into the grimy knees of his jeans because _“_ _we aren’t doing anything,  _ _Jet, there’s always gonna be_ more”. Kobra’s eyes, young and frightened and so very much like they had been in those last moments in the City, as Poison grabs his hand and says, _“_ _we gotta run, okay?” _

Poison wishes that he could cry. In any normal situation he would rather shoot himself in the foot than let anyone — save maybe his family — see him break down, but there’s no one around and they wouldn’t be able to see him anyways and maybe it would get rid of the sensation in his throat like he tried to swallow a rock because he sure as hell can  _feel_. But he’s dead, and he’s not really here, and it’s not like he would have the water to do so anyways even if he wasn’t, because he’s been trailing around the desert without a canteen for almost twenty-four hours. So he just keeps walking.

The Zones seem big and empty when you don’t have a car. Poison isn’t sure what happened to the Trans Am. It’s not like anyone could’ve gone back into the city to get it, and BL/ind hardly has any use for it. His best guess is that it’s going to be stripped down for parts, or more likely just tossed in a garbage dump to rust. And that makes a hot, sick feeling burn in his stomach (that’s their _car_ _._ That’s the epicenter of their _lives_ _,_ basically) so he doesn’t dwell on it much longer than that, even though even more memories threaten to spill to the surface. He keeps walking.

*

_When Poison cracks his eyes open, the light is blinding, and his head immediately throbs. He closes them again, and blearily tries to make sense of what’s happening._

_He’s lying down, he can tell that much, and his head_ hurts, _and he hears movement around him but it feels far away, like he’s in the center of a dust storm and trying to hear something happening outside of it._

_There’s a shuffling near his head, closer than the other sounds, and Poison tries for opening his eyes again, this time a figure swimming into view, blocking some of the brightness. Poison squints, and the room focuses a little bit more, and he can see it’s Ghoul, smeared in dust and sand and sweat. He’s still kind of got his mask on, rubber Frankenstein grimace yanked up off of his face, dark hair tangled in it and sticking to his face with moisture, but he’s looking at Poison with his brows furrowed and blood on his lower lip._

_Poison can feel his own brows scrunching with confusion, but Ghoul’s_ there _and deserves_ something, _so he tries for some words. “Heyyy, gorgeous,” he manages to slur, feeling the corners of his mouth tilt up despite the fact that he’s not quite sure what’s going on._

_Ghoul’s mouth pulls into a tight smile, and Poison tries lifting his hand to reach for Ghoul’s, but it’s too heavy and he only succeeds in shifting it a little. Half a second later, though, Ghoul’s hand slips into his and squeezes anyways, so that’s alright. “Hey, Pois. Stay still, ‘kay? You got kinda hurt ‘n’ Jet doesn’t want you moving just yet.”_

_“Jet...?” Poison mumbles, feeling panicky all of a sudden. There was...a clap? It’s a little fuzzy, but Poison’s pretty sure there was, and belatedly he’s hit with the urgent need to make sure that his crew is okay. Ghoul’s here, and talking to him, so that’s one down, but he can’t see the others, so he ignores Ghoul’s previous comment and tries to sit up. That proves to be kind of useless, though, given that moving even a little bit immediately makes his head feel like it’s going to explode._

_“Ghoul, make sure he doesn’t move his head,” Jet’s voice says, from around the vicinity of Poison’s waist where he’s lying, and when Poison shakily shifts his gaze in that direction he can make out the blurry form of Jet Star, jacket off but standing and to all appearances just fine. Poison relaxes, only to stiffen when a hand rests on his forehead, gently restraining him from moving._

_Ghoul’s already leant down, though, before he can even twitch, mouth right next to his ear as he says softly, “Jus’ me, sunshine. ‘S okay.”_

_Poison just barely stops himself from nodding, mouthing “okay” instead and hesitating. “Kobra?” he asks, just to be sure. He’s pretty certain that Jet and Ghoul wouldn’t be hovering over him if Kobra was bleeding out on the floor somewhere, but he won’t be able to feel fully calm until he’s confirmed it._

_A hand, glove and red jacket sleeve identifying the owner of said appendage pretty definitively, waves in the air at the edge of Poison’s field of vision. “Here, P.”_

_Poison sighs, tension draining out of his body, though his head’s still throbbing and he’s becoming more aware of a burning ache in his stomach. “Wha’zz’ap’nin’?”_

_“You got shot, ‘n’ then a Drac whipped you ‘cross the back ‘f the head with its zap an’ you went down cold, so you’re pretty damn concussed ‘n’ Jet’s tryin’ to fix the hole in your stomach so you don’t bleed your guts out onto the table.” Ghoul is still hovering above Poison’s head, and his voice sounds convincingly calm but his eyes are just a little bit too wide and Poison can feel the slight shake in his hand where it’s still resting against his forehead, pushing the hair out of his face._

_He squeezes Ghoul’s hand as best as he can manage. “‘M alright, Ghoulie.” Ghoul squeezes back, tense lines of his face slackening a bit. “...’Re you guys okay, though?”_

_“Peachy,” Jet says tiredly, dull stinging in Poison’s abdomen telling him that Jet must be cleaning the blaster wound at this point._

_“You got the worst of it. They didn’t hit me at all, ‘n’ the most Jet had to patch up f’r him ‘n’ Ghoul was a couple scrapes.” Kobra’s appeared at his side, opposite Ghoul, little worried smile on his face, but he holds Poison’s free hand when Poison pats it against the Diner table, which he’s finally come to realize is where they’re all gathered._

_Another thought occurs to him, and he darts his eyes between Ghoul and Kobra. “Wh’re’s th’ Girl?”_

_“Napping,” Kobra says, smile widening minutely when Poison sighs in relief. He doesn’t like when she has to see any of them really hurt, tries to keep her away from that sort of thing as much as possible. He should’ve figured the others would take care of it, but it’s nice to know for sure that at least she wouldn’t have to see a bleeding blaster wound this time._

_Jet blows out a breath, finally rocking back on his heels and swiping at his forehead with the back of his arm. “‘Kay, that wasn’t as bad as it looked. Didn’t even have to stitch you up.” He sighs. “Don’t take that as an excuse to start running around, though, Party, you’re still concussed, fuck’s sake.”_

_Poison doesn’t really feel much like doing that regardless, given that the bandaged hole in his stomach still feels like shit, and his head whirls even as Ghoul and Kobra carefully move him into a sitting position. “Yes, sir,” he quips anyways, giving Jet a slightly sloppy grin._

_Jet rolls his eyes, but still comes over to hug him, where he’s propped between his brother and Ghoul. “What, no kiss?” Poison mumbles when Jet pulls away, words sliding into each other. Destroya, he feels like he might throw up._

_Jet snorts, still eyeing him carefully. “Nah. Think I’ll let Ghoul handle that one. You gonna hurl?”_

_“Maybe.”_

_“I’ll get you a bucket. You already vomited all over yourself, in the car no less, so if you’re wondering why you don’t have your jacket that’s why. Ghoul, Kobes, make sure he stays conscious ‘til I get back.”_

_Well, that just feels unfair, because Poison literally wants nothing more than to close his eyes and go to sleep, but he knows Jet’s right, and that’s what you’re supposed to do with a concussion or whatever, so he settles for scowling and halfheartedly muttering something choice that makes Jet roll his eyes again as he’s leaving the room._

_He leans against Ghoul and Kobra’s arms, pressed against his back to keep him sitting up straight, and sighs heavily at the way they keep shooting each other little glances. “By the fuckin’ Witch, guys, I’m not just gonna keel over dead the second you look away, ’m fine. Mostly.”_

_Ghoul frowns, opens his mouth, closes it. He looks at Kobra again, and Kobra nudges Poison’s side where he’s nestled. “You really scared us, Party. One second everyone’s jus’ milkshakes, th’ next, you’re collapsed bleedin’ into the sand. ‘S isn’t exactly an overreaction.”_

_“Plus you threw up on me in the ‘Am.” Ghoul says wryly. His hand, wrapped around Poison’s waist, is drawing little patterns through his shirt against the skin there, and Poison knows he isn’t mad at him, just a little shaken, though he’s been hiding it_ exceptionally  _well for the most part._

_He lolls his head on Ghoul’s shoulder — carefully, but it hurts with the movement anyways — and gives him an overly sweet smile. “Aw, baby, did you hold my hair back for me?” It’s a stupid joke, but it makes Ghoul huff a short laugh, and Poison can feel a real smile breaking through his exaggerated one._

_“Yeah, Ghoul kept you from choking on this morning’s Power Pup while Jet drove ‘n’ I called Dr. D to warn him ‘bout the patrol that got past us.” Kobra’s tone is joking, but the words he’s saying aren’t, and by the end of the sentence the humor has drained from his voice a little bit._

_Poison shifts his head from Ghoul’s shoulder to Kobra’s, squeezing both of their hands at the same time. “Sorry.”_

_“Wasn’t your fault,” Jet says, returning with a plastic bin he’s scrounged from somewhere. “Not like you asked to get slammed over the head. Not many people are real big fans of blunt trauma.” He places the bin he’s holding on the floor in front of Poison. “There. If you’re gonna puke again, use that. ‘N the meantime, you gotta stay awake, so I guess we’ll take turns.” He dusts off his hands, seemingly satisfied with himself._

_“Y’ guys don’t have to...” Poison tries, feeling guilty, but his eyes catch on the movement and he stops short, glancing around, trying not to move his head too much. “You’re dirty.”_

_Kobra rolls his eyes. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. Maybe the brain damage ‘s worse than we thought. What, did you want us to leave you lying on the table bleeding while we all took turns showering? We cleaned you up a bit ‘n’ that’s it. Ghoul hasn’t even changed his pants where you literally threw up all over him.”_

_Poison glances down to see that Ghoul’s jeans are indeed crusted with dried vomit. He wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”_

_That makes Ghoul actually laugh for real, and Poison can feel the warm vibrations where he’s pressed up against Ghoul’s side. “Fuck you, it’s your goddamn puke.”_

_Poison fights a grin of his own, lifting his chin a little and taking on a mock-prissy tone. “Well I don’t wanna be around any of you until you’re not disgustin’, so scram. Wash up.”_

_Ghoul rolls his eyes, sliding his arm out from around Poison and walking towards the back of the Diner. “Fine. I’ll go fuckin’ change, but at least one of us is gonna stay with you, okay?”_

_“‘Kay,” Poison murmurs, leaning heavily against Kobra’s shoulder without Ghoul’s arm to also prop him up, the leather of Kobra’s jacket gritty under his cheek. “Love you.”_

_Ghoul shoots him a smile — a much more genuine one than earlier, all warm and soft — over his shoulder as he leaves. “Love you too. Be right back.” Then he’s gone, and Poison is focusing mostly on just staying awake against his brother, energy drained both from the clap a few hours ago and the pain in his head and stomach._

_“I love you guys,” he says, quietly, even though his eyes are closed. Kobra’s hand tightens in his for a second, and he can tell Jet’s smiling when he replies. “We know, Party. We love you, too.”_

_*_

_“The fuck are we_ goin’, _Ghoul?” Poison says, stumbling a little over a loose pebble. The Trans Am is parked at the base of the little rock formation Ghoul is leading him up, hood winking at him in the starlight._

_Ghoul just looks at him, brushing back his hair with the hand that’s not holding Poison’s, mouth quirked in a grin. “‘S a surprise, Pois. You know how those work, I assume.”_

_“Fuck you,” Poison says, good-naturedly, carefully picking his way up the rocks, eyes on his feet so he doesn’t trip again. Ghoul tugs on his hand, leading him just a little further, and then stops._

_“We’re here.”_

_Poison looks around, a little skeptically. “This is it?” They’re just at the top of the rock pile, barely elevated over the rest of the desert, and sure, maybe the rock they’re on is big and flat but if he wanted big and flat he could’ve just driven out into the desert._

_ Ghoul gives him an amused look. “Yeah, give it a minute.” He’s brought a rough, worn blanket from the car, and he shakes it out over the center of the boulder, giving Poison a little sarcastic ‘ after you’ gesture. _

_Poison rolls his eyes but takes the extended hand and lets Ghoul pull him down to sit on the blanket. He looks over at him, eyebrow raised but smile tugging at his mouth. “What now, Ghoulie?”_

_“Jus’ wait.”_

_Poison doesn’t have to wait long._

_It starts with one star, streaking through the night sky like a paintbrush over paper. And then another, and another, and soon enough the dark blue sky is full of sparkling silver trails. Poison’s smile stretches into a grin, and he squeezes Ghoul’s hand even as he can’t tear his eyes away from the meteor shower overhead._

_He isn’t sure how long they sit there, watching the stars fall in a glittering sheet of sparks, but eventually the shower dies down, and the sky looks as it did before. Poison looks over at Ghoul, sitting there with a small smile on his face, stars reflected in his eyes, which are resting on Poison. “Pretty good surprise, baby,” Poison says quietly, voice just a touch rough with emotion._

_“I, uh, got you something else, too,” Ghoul says suddenly, in a rush. He fumbles with one of his pockets and then pushes something into Poison’s hands, a small bundle Poison didn’t realize he was carrying. His cheeks have gone pink, concealed a little bit by the darkness around them, and he taps a finger against the ground next to him like he’s nervous._

_Poison blinks, then looks down at the little cloth pouch in his palms, tugging at the drawstring and shaking out the contents. It’s a few small pieces of chocolate, and Poison’s breath catches, voice coming out soft. “_ Ghoulie _...Destroya, where’d you get this?”_

_“Traded for it. The other day, at that market in Three. Gave ‘em a few of my big bombs, but I think it was worth it.” Poison looks up at him, and he looks a little embarrassed, but pleased, smiling shyly. Ghoul clears his throat. “Um. Kobra told me what day today was, ‘n I knew ‘bout the meteor shower from Cherri an’ wanted to do somethin’ nice for you.”_

_ Poison can’t help the delighted smile that spreads across his face, even as he flushes, and he  knows _ _he probably looks like an idiot but he doesn’t care. He looks back down at the three little chocolates in his hand, feels warmth fill his chest at the thought that Ghoul would go to the trouble of doing this, of picking out a special spot and driving out here, of getting something this rare, for_ him.

_“Happy birthday, Cherry Bomb,” Ghoul says softly, and Poison turns so he can kiss him hard, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes._

_*_

_“D’ you ever think about it?”_

_It’s dark in their room, which is really just an old break room with a mattress dragged into it, and Poison is lying on his back, one hand tucked behind his head on the slightly flat pillow, the other resting on Ghoul’s, where his arm is flung over Poison’s hips. The dim light slipping in through minute gaps in the blinds throws slatted beams of pale blue across the ceiling that fade in and out as clouds pass over the moon outside, and Poison’s been watching them idly._

_Ghoul doesn’t respond for a second, and Poison thinks he might just be asleep. Then he says, “Think about what?”_

_Poison turns his head so he can see Ghoul’s face, one eye visible where he’s cracked it open, the rest of it hidden in the pillow, black locks splayed over the faded white fabric. Poison flips on his side, so he can face Ghoul more comfortably, tucking his legs up. “It. You know. Uh. SCARECROW. Th’ training program.”_

_Ghoul opens both eyes, twisting to lie on his side too. There’s a little frown on his face, brows slanting softly. “Why d’ you ask?”_

_Poison exhales quietly, winding his hair around his pinky. “Dunno. Jus’ think about it sometimes.”_

_“Mm.” Ghoul laces their fingers together, bringing their joined hands up between them on the bed. “I don’t...” he sighs through his nose. “I don’t.....remember most of it.”_

_“_ Oh , _” Poison says. That explains...a lot. And it makes his lungs constrict, just to think of the kind of dose Better Living must have had Ghoul on, for him not to remember something that is so permanently branded into Poison’s mind._

_“Yeah. It’s uh. A lot of it’s jus’...a blur if I try t’ think about it. ‘N some of it’s cloudy...but I can remember it. And then a little bit of it I can actually remember for real.”_

_“Like what?” Poison says without thinking, wincing immediately after. “Sorry. Y’ don’t have t’ answer that if you don’t want to.”_

_Ghoul smiles, with just the right half of his mouth, the way he does when he’s thinking hard about something. Poison knows it’s a habit that carried through from when his mouth got cut up, that for a long time it hurt too much to move that side of his face. He’s since mostly kicked it, smiles with his whole mouth almost all the time, but on occasion the half-smile still makes an appearance._

_“‘S okay. I remember...bits and pieces of th’ training, y’know, how t’ handle a blaster, how t’ make a killing shot.” He shudders, just slightly, and Poison reaches out to put his hand on Ghoul’s shoulder. Ghoul leans into the touch, warm under Poison’s palm. “I remember....what th’ facility looked like, a little, and....I remember you.”_

_Poison’s eyes flick up, from where they’ve drifted to their entwined hands. “What?”_

_“I remember you.” Ghoul’s tired smile reaches his eyes now, and he presses their foreheads together. “Not a lot — if ‘m bein’ honest it’s barely more than jus’ flashes, really — but you’re the only person I actually remember from th’ City, even though we didn’t know each other that well ‘t all. Y’know, Cherry Bomb— this is gonna sound really cliché, sorry ‘bout that, but I think you might be my soulmate. Or th’ Witch brought us t’gether, or something. ‘S all just a little too coincidental t’ be an accident.”_

_Poison squeezes his eyes shut, trying to pretend like they aren’t stinging a bit — Witch, Ghoul always somehow manages to make him cry — and presses his hand to the back of Ghoul’s neck. “I don’t think it, baby, I know it,” he whispers wetly, knowing Ghoul’s smile just from the shift in the air between them. “...Didn’t really think you remembered me. Wouldn’t’ve thought less ‘f you for it. Y’ sure do know how t’ make a guy feel special though.”_

_Ghoul laughs quietly, tilts his head so their lips brush. “Can’t really fault me there, sweetheart.”_

_*_

_Winded, Poison hits the ground and slides the last few feet through the dust to take cover behind one of the Better Living patrol cars parked haphazardly at the edge of the firefight still blazing around them._

_Ghoul, already crouched behind the hood, startles at the crunching of the sand, muzzle of his raygun jerking in Poison’s direction before he relaxes. “Fuck, Cherry Bomb, don’ sneak up on me, I would’a shot you.” His voice is muffled, filtering through the rubber mask over his face._

_Poison just grins. “Nothin’ like a good firefight to get the blood pumpin’, huh, angel?”_

_Ghoul snorts softly, and Poison can picture his amused smile even without being able to see his face. He’s still peering over the top of the car, firing a couple shots before ducking to avoid return fire from the remaining Dracs. He mutters a curse, pressing his back up against the hubcap and turning his head in Poison’s direction. “Gotta plan, crew leader?”_

_“Sure. Don’t get shot.” Poison can’t help the sarcastic quip, just because he knows it will make Ghoul laugh. And he does, a little pitched from the adrenaline rush that being in a clap comes with. Poison’s face heats, and he knows it’s doing that dumb thing where it smiles without his permission, that he never, ever minds because it’s always for_ Ghoul. 

_The back of Ghoul’s hand, cool somehow even in the sweltering heat around them, presses against the side of his face, right under the edge of his yellow domino mask. He can hear the humor still in Ghoul’s voice, along with something softer and sweeter, when he says, “D’you need t’ get out of the sun, Party? Y’ seem a little overheated.”_

_He retracts his hand, using it to pull his mask off of his face for just a second. Poison gets a brief glimpse of the sparkle in his eyes before he brushes a kiss against his cheek, dropping his mask back into place. “C’mon, Pois. Let’s go kick some ass.”_

_“You got it, sugar. Sooner we win this th’ sooner I get to see your pretty face again.” The silly, stupid smile widens when Ghoul rewards him with another laugh, and they burst out from behind their makeshift cover in unison. Ghoul immediately darts towards where Kobra is, taking down a few Dracs with an equal number of well-placed shots as he does so, as Poison backs in Jet’s direction, firing off steady bursts with careful squeezes of the trigger._

_“Took you long enough,” Jet pants when Poison’s back-to-back with him again. “What, were you guys making out back there?”_

_“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Poison fires back, smirking over his shoulder as he aims another shot. He knows Jet’s joking, anyways, part of the rapport they have when they fight together. “Tactical planning, Jet.”_

_“Sure.”_

_“Incoming!” Ghoul’s voice suddenly yells from across the wobbly half-circle of cars they’re fighting in. Without hesitation, Jet and Poison hit the deck, tucking their arms over their heads. The Dracs aren’t as lucky, a low boom of detonation making the ground rumble. As Poison scrambles to his feet, Jet already up again, he spares a glance back and grins._

_“Nice throw, baby,” he yells back, sees Ghoul flip him off from where he’s already back to aiming his blaster. Jet rolls his eyes, though he’s holding back a smile, and just shoves Poison’s arm._

_“Look alive, dumbass, fight’s not over yet.”_

_It very nearly is, though, Ghoul’s well-timed bomb having wiped through most of the remaining Dracs, and from there it’s really just cleanup._

_When the last Drac is dispatched, slumping to the ground, Poison blows imaginary smoke away from the barrel of his gun and turns to beam at the rest of his crew. Ghoul rips his mask off, huffing and flicking sweat-matted hair out of his face. “_ Fuck, _it’s so fuckin’_ hot, _who’s bright idea was ‘t to have me wear this thing anyways?”_

_ “Yours,” Jet says drily, Kobra following with a short burst of laughter. He’s flicked up his  Good Luck visor, shoving his sunglasses on through the opening.  _

_Poison taps on the top of the helmet as he walks over, still grinning. “You look stupid,” he says._

_Kobra flicks his forehead. “So do you.”_

_Poison sticks his tongue out at him childishly. Ghoul snickers, drawing Poison’s attention back to where he’s standing, his mask wrinkled in one hand. He catches Poison staring and grins, nose scrunching with the movement, raising an eyebrow._

_“Good bomb there at the end,” Poison says, tone carefully casual, taking a few steps closer._

_“Yeah?” Ghoul says, amused edge to his voice, looking up as Poison approaches, dark eyes twinkling with the same spark from earlier._

_“Yeah,” Poison says, trying not to sound too eager._

_Ghoul leans up right as Poison leans down, lips salty with sweat and just a little gritty with sand and dust. Ghoul tilts his head slightly, and Poison is all too happy to let his mouth fall open and dig his fingers into Ghoul’s hair._

_“Guys,” comes Kobra’s pained voice from over his shoulder. Poison wants to ignore him but Ghoul pulls back, laughing a little under his breath. He drops an apologetic kiss against the corner of Poison’s mouth before stepping back, tangling their hands together._

_“Y’ can kiss me all you want later,” he whispers, a little teasing but for the most part so sweet it makes Poison’s heart do a funny half-flip and he wants to kiss him again_ now.

_Jet clears his throat. “Right._ So. _Plan? Same as usual, Party?”_

_Poison forces himself to focus, casting a quick glance around to assess. “Yeah. Siphon th’ cars, take th’ parts y’ think could be useful, burn th’ rest of it.”_

_“Got it.” Jet flashes him a quick smile, turns to jog towards the Trans Am to get the stuff they’ll need. Kobra’s already got one of the cars’ doors open, digging through the techy parts of the dashboard for pieces he can use._

_Ghoul tugs on his hand, gives him another smile. “Can’t make ‘em do all ‘f it, Pois.”_

_“Right behind you, doll.”_

_*_

_Poison blinks his eyes against the pale light of morning worming its way through the shades to glare right into his face, ducking his head and curling more firmly against Ghoul’s chest to try to hide from the brightness. Ghoul’s still asleep, arm looped over Poison’s ribs, breathing steadily against where Poison’s nose is pressed into his sternum. Poison closes his eyes, inhales the hint of engine grease and oil that always clings to Ghoul’s hair, along with the hint of citrus that’s come to smell like home._

_There’s a helpless smile working its way onto his face as he ghosts his fingers over where he knows Ghoul’s tattoos are, the raven with outstretched wings on his neck, the symbols of their crewmates across his chest, Poison’s pill-and-x on the skin over his heart. Ghoul shifts, makes a tired noise, and Poison pulls back to see his face scrunch against the sunlight, eyes still closed._

_“G’ morning,” Poison says, voice a little raspy with sleep. He brings the hand tracing Ghoul’s tattoos up to drag through his hair, catching in the little tangles strewn throughout._

_“Mmn. Morning.” Ghoul’s mouth pulls up at the corner a little, still not opening his eyes, and the arm against Poison’s side tugs him a little closer. The knuckles of his other hand brush against Poison’s shoulder absentmindedly. “Time is’t?”_

_“Dunno. Sun’s up but ‘s not hot yet,” Poison says. He keeps running his fingers through Ghoul’s hair, working out the snags until it’s smooth, fingertips brushing over the warmth of his neck._

_Ghoul’s eyes blink open, half-lidded, still tired-looking. There’s something, though, in the way he’s looking at Poison (_ always _looks at him, Destroya, Poison has got to be the luckiest person in the Zones), something golden and warm that makes a matching feeling ache deep in Poison’s chest._

_He tilts his head up to press their lips together, a gentle_ hello, good morning,  _and Ghoul’s hand goes to his jaw to hold him there, lingering against each other, mouths barely moving._

_Poison pulls back, eventually, running his fingers along the edge of Ghoul’s face. There’s the soft, happy smile that seems to be reserved exclusively for Poison starting to creep over the edges of his mouth, and Poison presses his lips to Ghoul’s jaw._

I can’t believe I get to have this, _he wants to say._

_“You’re beautiful,” is what comes out._

_Ghoul’s face goes an incredibly fetching shade of pink, and his smile gets wider, goes a little crooked. “Thanks,” he says, and laughs, with an embarrassed wobble to it. “But I think you’ve got me beat.” His fingers brush against Poison’s cheek, sweeping a few stray hairs behind his ear._

_Poison huffs out a breath and buries his face in Ghoul’s throat instead of responding, smiling when Ghoul presses his cheek against his hair._

_“You wanna get up?” He asks._

_“Nah,” Poison says, perfectly content where he is. “Let’s give it a few more minutes.”_

_*_

_“Don’t do that,” Ghoul murmurs, cradling Poison’s face in his hands, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. He’s warm in Poison’s lap, both of them sitting on their shared mattress, Poison cross-legged with his back against the adjacent wall._

_Poison sighs. “It’s true though, Ghoulie. I’m — shit, I’m responsible for the whole fuckin’ desert, I’m the one who decided to play rebel, ‘n’ everyone in the Zones followed my lead ‘cause I made ‘em an’ now four ‘joys are dead.”_

_“No. Th’_ fuck _you’re not.” Poison is startled by the venom in Ghoul’s voice, looks up to see Ghoul looking at him with sad, shadowed eyes, though his tone is still harsh when it comes out, in contrast with the way he’s gently sweeping his fingers along the line of Poison’s cheekbones. “You’re not responsible for fuckin’_ _ any ‘f it, got that? Y’ didn’t make anyone do a damn thing, all of us know th’ risks of bein’ a killjoy, ‘n’ th’ only one to blame for that crew’s deaths is th’ exterminator who held a zap t’ their heads.” _

_His expression softens, from the inside out, and the fire is gone from his words when he speaks again. “You didn’t do anything, Cherry Bomb. Y’ can’t blame yourself for every little thing that goes wrong in the desert — or every big thing, either.”_

_Poison takes a breath, lets it out slowly. He hesitates, then says, shakily, “One day it’s gonna be one ‘f you guys. ‘N’ I don’t know what I’ll do.” His voice cracks on the end of the sentence, and he squeezes his eyes shut._

_ Ghoul slides his hands into Poison’s hair and grips tight. “We’re not gonna leave you, Pois. D’ you hear me? We all fuckin’ love you, Jet loves you, Kobra loves you, the Girl loves you.  I  love you. You’d better fuckin’ believe all ‘f us ‘re gonna do whatever it takes, Witch be damned, t’ stay right here with you, alright?” _

_Poison takes another deep, shaky breath, opens his eyes. “Okay. Okay. Okay.”_

_Ghoul is watching him, eyes roving over his face, maybe trying to decide whether Poison actually means it. It’s hard to tell, though, and then he leans forward, tucking his face into Poison’s neck. “You’d_ better _fuckin’ believe it,” he mutters, lips ghosting over the skin under his ear. Poison shivers, and his heartrate spikes. Ghoul presses a kiss to the base of his jaw. “I love you —” another kiss, “—‘n’ ‘m right here —“ another one, trailing lower on his neck, “—‘n’ ‘m not gonna leave you. I_ love _you, goddammit, okay?” _

_If Poison had been in any shape to respond he might’ve said something about not being able to know that for sure, but as it is, with Ghoul’s breath hot on his throat, mouth making his brain short-circuit a little, the most eloquent he can manage is something along the lines of “Hnhh —“_

_Just a hint of teeth rasps over his collarbone, and Poison fists his hand in the back of Ghoul’s shirt. Before he goes any further, though, Ghoul is suddenly right next to his ear, voice low. “Hey. ‘S this okay? Y’ want me t’ stop?”_

_“No,” Poison mumbles, breathless._

_“Okay.” Teeth, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to leave a mark, against the very edge of his ear. “I love you. ‘M not going anywhere without you, Party.”_

_And then he’s kissing him, hand slipping under the hem of the old, thin t-shirt Poison’s wearing, and Poison’s hauling him forwards so they’re pressed together._

_“I love you, too, Ghoulie,” he whispers, a little raggedly, when Ghoul’s occupied giving him a set of bruises to match the one on his shoulder._

_“Good, ‘cause you’re not gettin’ rid of me now, beautiful.” Lips on his pulse point again. “You’re stuck with me.”_

_“Okay,” Poison says weakly, hands on Ghoul’s waist._

_“I promise, Poison.”_

_“Okay.”_

*

There’s about a million memories, good, bad, everything in between — and Poison misses him so much his metaphysical chest aches. He’s lost one of the only good things he’s ever had in his life — one of four, really, because his family, Kobra, Jet, Ghoul, the Girl, were what he fought for, why he kept going. Now that he doesn’t have them he doesn’t know what to do. 

_Ghoul in the ‘Am, nighttime shining in his raven hair like an oil slick, one hand pressed to Poison’s shoulder, pinning him to the seat, the other to the leather next to his head, drawing back just for a second to breathe, eyes dark and red mouth tilted in a grin._

God, he’d been so  _happy_ , too — he’d gotten a little over two years, two almost perfect years where he’d been allowed, against all odds, everything he wanted. He could protect his brother and keep Jet at his side and raise the Girl safely and have Ghoul the way he’d wanted him for ages. And, considering how dangerous killjoy life was, that was a lot, Poison had gotten a lot of time. He should’ve known it couldn’t last. Still, he feels, it hadn’t been enough. He’s not sure it would ever have been enough.

_“There you are,” Poison laughs, arm around Ghoul’s waist, Ghoul beaming so wide it’s making his eyes scrunch up at the corners. “Here I am,” he says breathlessly, and pushes up on his toes to smash their mouths together._

Poison keeps walking even though it feels pointless, even though his boots don’t kick up any dust as he does.

_Ghoul leaning over his shoulder as they roar down Route Guano, Poison yelling along to the song playing on Dr. D’s station and Ghoul laughing brightly in his ear loud enough to be heard even with all the windows open and the ‘Am doing 95, and Poison’s in_ love.

Destroya, they’re all  _gone_. His family is all either dead or alive and he’s neither, all of them out of reach.

_Cold nose pressed into his cheek. Warm fingers threading through his hair. Soft brown eyes flashing, with heat, with affection, with something so intense it takes his breath away. Gentle lips against the back of his hand._

There’s a little scrap-fabric bag — inexpertly sewn together but no less lovingly crafted for it — somewhere in the Diner, tucked in the pantry where the other three had left their masks, and Poison can’t help but hope that Cherri found it, that he brought it to the mailbox with the rest of their things, because that was the only way it and the thing it contained were ever going to have a chance of making it to the person they were meant for now. 

Jet had helped (being the only desertborn in the crew, nevermind as Poison’s best friend), when Poison had nervously approached him with a question about desert traditions, in finding the right beads, the right colors, stringing them in the right pattern. He’d held on to it for a month and a half, always just a little too much of a coward to actually ask, and then the Girl had been taken and the bracelet had been forgotten, for a little bit, during the frantic next few days of planning what was, in essence, a suicide mission. And now...

Well. Poison had always been shit for timing.

In the distance, ahead, something appears. Poison squints at it, heat rising from the sand making the shape hazy and indistinct, but it seems to be a single building, fairly low to the ground. Feeling his spirits rise, just a bit, at this apparent upswing in luck, Poison quickens his pace a little. It’s not like he can get tired, anyways.


	3. Kobra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poison visits the radio station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, this is the first chapter of this that i wrote separately from the rest of it, and i’m really excited to share it with you guys!
> 
> it’s pretty heavily based off my own relationship with my younger sister, who is my best friend and helped me beta this chapter! i also wrote in a lot of references to personal headcanons about the characters and also to the timeline i have for the Fab Four (i have two, one that breaks off from canon aka everyone lives and one that follows canon very closely aka the version this fic is set in) so i hope you all enjoy!!
> 
> (also big thanks to commenters and my friends on tumblr for getting me hooked on kobracola lol)
> 
> ty for reading! <3

_Kobra slams the door to the apartment. Well, Kobra-but-not-Kobra-yet slams the door to the apartment. Not-Poison scowls at him, instinctively glancing towards the window, where the watery yellow sun is slinking downward into the Battery City skyline._

_“Quiet,” he snaps. He had snapped everything at that point, so strung out from pill withdrawal and stress and having to act every moment of his life to even try to be nice to his brother. He glares at the greyscale pages of the SCARECROW manual in front of him. Not that he’s actually been reading it for the past hour. It’s just if he lets go of the hardcover binding he’ll start gnawing his nails off. He flips a page, ignoring the fact that his hands are vibrating with tension. “D’you want them to investigate us_ tonight _of all fuckin’ nights? Christ.”_

_Not-Kobra gives him an unimpressed stare and drops his schoolbag on the dining room table. “You’re welcome.” Not-Poison pointedly doesn’t look at him, but can’t really ignore it when a hard bundle of fabric hits him in the back of the head._

“Ow _,” he hisses, whipping around in his armchair. “What the_ fuck, _James—“ he cuts himself off when he spots what it was that Not-Kobra threw at him. He picks it up from the floor, unfolding it and holding it up in wonder. It’s a jacket: nice, heavy leather, in a rich royal blue color that Not-Poison has never seen in such a concentrated area before. He clenches his still-shaking fingers around the plush fabric, holding it instinctively close to his chest as if someone is going to rip it away from him._

_Not-Kobra’s got a small, proud smile on his face when Not-Poison looks up at him, wide-eyed. “It’s for you. Ace Diamond got it for me, wouldn’t tell me where from, but I guess that’s Juvees for you. Got me one too, said if we were gonna leave the City first thing we were gonna need was somethin’ to keep warm, else we’d freeze the first night out. I thought you’d like that one more. Anyways, I called dibs on the red one.”_

_Not-Poison hesitates, something between “thank you” and “sorry” and “that’s cheating” tangled on his tongue, and in the end he swallows whatever it was he was going to say and slides the jacket on. It smells used — not unclean, just worn and broken-in. Cared for. There’s hints of other scents clinging to it, things Not-Poison has never smelled before, but would later identify as acrylic paints and sand and sun-baked leather. It fits well, maybe just a hair big in the torso, and Not-Poison is delighted to find that the sleeves are only half length, ending partway over his forearms._

_Not-Kobra reads his mind, the way he’s always been able to do, even early on when Not-Poison was bitchy and high strung, and even earlier when Decidedly-Not-Poison had still been on the pills, still in the SCARECROW program. He smiles, patting Not-Poison’s arm right above where the sleeve of his jacket cuts off. “Knew you’d like that. I know how you are about things on your wrists.”_

_Not-Poison still can’t come up with words, and can’t figure out how to apologize for being so nasty when Not-Kobra came in, so he just grips the edges of the jacket, pulling it tight across his chest, and smiles back, hoping Not-Kobra gets it. Fortunately, he does, and grabs one of Not-Poison’s hands, squeezing._

_“I’ll go start getting our stuff ready.” He glances out the window Not-Poison had looked out of earlier, the sun almost fully gone now behind the buildings of downtown. “Curfew will be soon, an’ then we’ll leave. Diamond said he’d meet us at the edge of the Lobby. That sound good to you, ‘Lex?”_

_“Sounds good,” Not-Poison murmurs, rubbing his thumb over the metal teeth of the zipper._

_“Okay then.” Not-Kobra flashes him a look, one that’ll disappear behind dark sunglasses only a few days out in the Zones, corner of his mouth ticking up. “Here we go.”_

_*_

_“A — Party, check it out!”_

_They’ve only been in the desert for a few weeks, and it’s obvious; their hair is short and untouched by the dye that so many killjoys covet, and — though it’s not something they would have known was going to change at the time — their jackets are still plain and impersonal, simple blue and red. It makes Party Poison more nervous than the fresh name that’s still settling around him, the fact that the two of them are so clearly new._

_“Undergrads,” Show Pony had called them that first night, when two city-born not-quite-yet-killjoys had appeared on the step of WKIL like they’d been instructed to do so by the Juvee who got them out of the City. They’re staying with Dr. Death-Defying and Pony, as they try to get some footing under them, and Poison knows they’re among the lucky ones — most Batt City escapees don’t have a Juvee Hall to get them out and give them advice, and even if they do, they don’t have one as oddly kind as Ace Diamond had been, giving them jackets and water and food and pointing them to Dr. D’s place. They’re getting a very cushy first experience in the Zones, and Poison is well aware he should be counting their blessings._

_But he still can’t help but be nervous about...well, everything. He knows the desert isn’t kind, and while, when Dr. D had had them run an errand for him while Show Pony was on a delivery — just as a favor — he knew he couldn’t say no to the man who had housed him and his little brother and given them so much help, he’s on edge, a little. Even more so given that his brother — and himself, though he’s more loathe to admit it — keeps slipping and almost using their old names._

_So maybe he isn’t as pleasant as he could be when he turns and says, “What?” in a slightly sharper tone than he quite means to use._

_Kobra Kid shrinks back, slightly, and silently points in the direction he’d been looking. (It’ll get better later, when Poison learns how to not be quite who he was in the City, but really when Kobra gets tired of dealing with his shit and starts snapping back. That doesn’t stop Poison from looking back on these moments with a kind of sick regret that he probably won’t ever be able to get rid of.)_

_When Poison follows the line of Kobra’s arm, though, he gets the wind knocked out of him a little._

_There’s an abandoned structure of some kind or another a few yards off to the right of their position, too crumbled to really be much use even for shelter, but with still-somewhat-intact walls jutting out of the sand like teeth, providing surface area that someone — a killjoy, certainly, but without much else to identify them — has painted a mural on._

_When Poison catches his breath, he makes his way over to it, dragging his fingers over the swirling lines and sharp angles of the artwork. It’s abstract, and that’ll turn out to be something Poison finds he doesn’t like very much, but in the moment, it’s something he’s never, ever seen before. Not even in ‘Crow training, where they made sure to really drill into all candidates any sort of illegal acts killjoys and Juvees would potentially commit. It’s so colorful that Poison wants to shove his hands into it, rather than just running them over the surface._

_Kobra comes up behind him, peering over his shoulder. “What ‘s it?”_

_“‘S a painting,” Poison says. He’ll learn the term mural __later, but for now he’s not an idiot. He doesn’t mean to sound so awestruck, really, aiming for more matter-of-fact and completely missing the mark. He can’t stop touching it, as if the vibrancy of it will bleed into his skin if he keeps sweeping his fingers against it, even though the paint is dry. He presses his fingertips into a painted arc of crimson, wishing he could curl his hand around it and pull it into himself. That color is his favorite, he decides. It’s like Kobra’s jacket, but_ more, _somehow. It feels like fire, and freedom, and the glow of the sun setting in the desert, without an artificial atmosphere to dull its vividity._

_Kobra’s looking at him strangely, not like he’s confused, but in a way that Poison’s never seen before. He supposes that he’s going to have to get used to that, given that the intricacies of emotions weren’t exactly top priority in the City. It’s making the back of his neck itch, though, so he spins around, forcing his hands back into his pockets. “C’mon,” he says, casual. “Let’s go, we still got stuff to get.”_

_Kobra follows him without complaint, but Poison catches him glancing back at the mural several times as they get back to the van and drive away, which he knows because he can’t keep himself from looking back at it either._

_They finish the errand, take the supplies from the market back to Dr. D, but Poison can’t stop thinking about the painting, the way the art had looked, and felt under his hands, and the intensity of the colors. It sticks with him enough that he asks Dr. D about it, who professes no great expertise with art but explains as best as he can about graffiti in the Zones, and where to get paints, if Poison wants them._

_Poison doesn’t notice Kobra lurking in the back of the room, but he does notice the next day when his little brother is missing. He freaks, a bit, yelling at Dr. D when he can’t find him, and then at Pony, and then at nothing when Dr. D won’t let him take the van to go look for him and sends him out behind the radio station to calm down. He throws rocks at the wall for an hour and then spends the rest of the day sitting in the shade with his head between his knees, thinking about all the possible worst-case scenarios. (This, partially, is what gets him to start considering how he’s been treating his brother. It’s not enough, yet, to really change his behavior, but it does make him start to think about what it would mean if the last words he had said to his brother were “leave me alone”.)_

_Kobra comes back, though, when the sun is down, sunglasses pushed into his hair, and maybe slightly dusty, but not covered in blood or bruises or any of the things Poison was worried about and Poison is torn between tackling him in a hug and screaming at him until he’s hoarse. He does hug him, though it’s not particularly gentle, and when he lets go he smacks him on the back of the head. “Where were you?” Poison demands. He’s still taller than Kobra at this point, though it’s by about an inch or two, and he tries to use that to his advantage by straightening up and lifting his chin condescendingly._

_Kobra doesn’t flinch, but he does look at Poison warily. “Um.”_

_Poison narrows his eyes, opening his mouth to really get started on a rant, but Kobra cuts him off by holding something out._

_It’s a spray can, and the label has “STRAWBERRY RED” printed on it in brightly colored letters. Poison takes it gingerly, rolling it over in his hands, like maybe his subconscious doesn’t think it’s real. He deflates, and then rekindles, this time with enthusiasm, and when he grins unreservedly at Kobra, Kobra grins right back._

_“For me?”_

_“Yeah,” Kobra says, still smiling. “You really liked th’ painting. An’ I told Dr. D where I was going. So. You can’t yell at me.”_

_“Hm.” Poison turns back to the spray can, gives it an experimental shake. It makes a clunking-swishing noise and the shift of weight in his hand is satisfying, so he does it again. And grins again._

_“Wanna try ‘t out?” Kobra asks, seemingly pretty excited himself._

_Poison starts to nod, then catches himself. “Nah. ‘S dark, we should try ‘t in the morning when we can see.”_

_“Okay,” Kobra says, and slides his hand into Poison’s as they walk inside, the can growing warm in his other palm as he holds it._

_“Hey, um. Thanks.” Poison says, a little awkwardly._

_“‘F course,” Kobra says. And Poison can tell he means it._

_*_

_Poison flops easily into Kobra’s personal space, head thumping on Kobra’s thighs as he splays across the booth. Kobra winces, but only slightly, and he reaches out to clasp Poison’s hand at the same time Poison does, fingers cool against Poison’s palm._

_“Whatcha doin’?”_

_Kobra shrugs, tapping halfheartedly at the dilapidated laptop in front of him. His other hand is pulling at his hair, winding strands around his fingers and tugging them towards his mouth. He’s got work spread out in front of him — his coding books and scribbled sheets of notes and the salvaged ‘Crow computer from the transport raid the previous week organized in neat piles on the table — but he’s not actually using any of it, glancing up every so often and then ducking down and pretending to busy himself with his papers. Poison frowns and prods Kobra’s stomach with his shoulder._

_“Hey. Somethin’ up?”_

_Kobra’s eyes flick up, and then down to Poison’s again. He bites his lip, shaking his head, but he’s fidgeting, bringing his thumb up to his mouth and chewing at the nail absentmindedly. Poison grabs the table and pulls himself into a sitting position to see what Kobra keeps staring at. He looks across the room, eyes landing on where Cherri Cola is playing with the Girl on a carefully darned blanket, dangling one of her homemade toys — the unidentifiable stuffed animal Ghoul had made for her the first week they had her — over her head for her to burble at and reach for. The Girl’s tiny infant fingers are wrapped securely around his pinky. He’s smiling warmly down at her, blue-and-brown hair falling across his face._

_Poison looks back at Kobra to see he’s gone red, fiddling with the frayed knee of his jeans. “Oh,” Poison says. Then he thinks about it a little more and says, “_ Oh . _” He feels a grin break across his face and he can’t help grabbing Kobra’s arm and shaking it a little. “‘S that it? Stupid.”_

_“It_ is _stupid,” Kobra mutters, eyes fixed on a dirt stain on his thigh. “Wasn’t gonna tell you. ‘Cause ‘s dumb.”_

_“That’s not what I mean,” Poison says indignantly. Kobra doesn’t look at him though, and that’s a sure sign that something really is bothering him, more than he’s letting on. Poison sits up properly, scooting over to curl into Kobra’s side. “Kobes...” he hesitates. “I meant you were bein’ stupid ‘cause you could jus’ tell ‘im.”_

_Kobra sighs. “‘M not gonna_ tell _‘im, Party. Th’ fuck.” He sounds resigned, and that makes Poison’s heart ache a little, partly because his brother shouldn’t sound like that if Poison can help it, and partly because, well, he gets it._

_He wraps his arm around Kobra’s waist, leaning his head on his shoulder. “I think you should tell ‘im. You’re lucky, y’know. He likes you back.”_

_Kobra stiffens under him, twitching away. “No, he doesn’t.”_

_“Yeah he does. Have y’ seen th’ way he acts around you? You come into a room ‘n’ he lights up like a fuckin’ floodlight. An’ he’s always around.” And if Kobra says anything, he’ll be around even more, Poison’s brain reminds him. But whatever. Poison doesn’t mind Cherri, and it would make Kobra happy, so no big deal. Poison gives Kobra a squeeze where he’s pressed up against him. “Trus’ me. He likes you.”_

_“Okay,” Kobra says, and there’s just a hint of pleased shyness in his voice. When Poison looks up at him, his cheeks are still pink but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth. “Okay. ‘F you really think so.”_

_“Yeah. ‘S like....really obvious. Everyone in th’ Diner knows he’s like, obsessed with you.” That makes Poison pause, as he considers his own words. Hesitantly, he nudges Kobra’s arm with his. “Didn’t know you liked him too. ‘M sorry I missed ‘t. But....why didn’t y’ tell me? Y’know y’ can tell me anything.”_

_Kobra nudges him back, leaning against Poison in turn. “Dunno. Jus’....didn’t know that it was gonna go anywhere. ‘N’ I wasn’t gonna tell Cherri ‘bout it so I guess I figured ‘t wasn’t important. An’,” he sounds like he’s smiling, suddenly. “I knew you would make ‘t a big thing. It would become a whole dog an’ pony show ‘n’ I didn’t even think he reciprocated, y’know. Also I guess I thought y’ would think it was dumb.”_

_“I wouldn’t make it a_ thing _,” Poison says, slapping at Kobra’s knee._

_“Yes you would.” Kobra’s definitely smiling, now, Poison can feel it against his shoulder, and he can’t help smiling back._

_“Fine. I would. Happy?”_

_Kobra blows a raspberry on the side of his neck and Poison squawks and squirms, batting Kobra’s face away. “Fuck you! See ‘f I help you ever again.”_

_Kobra laughs properly, then, and tucks back into his shoulder, instead of pretending to do his work like he had been. “Thanks, Party.”_

_“‘Course. I love you ‘n’ y’ needed someone t’ cheer you up. Okay?”_

_“Mmn. Yeah. Love you too.”_

_*_

_Poison storms into Kobra’s room in a flurry of righteous conquest, ripping the blanket off his bed and swinging his own pillow at Kobra’s head with the other. Kobra splutters awake, arms flailing, hair disastrously askew._

_“What?” He gasps, struggling to sit up as Poison hits him with the pillow again. “Th’ fuck did I_ do _?”_

_“You_ _knew,” Poison hisses furiously, whacking him violently with the pillow everywhere he can reach, though he can’t really stop from smiling right now, which kind of takes the edge off of his attack. “You fuckin’_ knew _and you didn’t tell me, I hate you so much and you’re the worst brother ever.”_

_By this point, Kobra’s recovered enough to grab his pillow out from under his head and launch a counterattack, though at that he pauses to make a big show of looking Poison up and down, taking in his hair (sticking up in all directions) and his face (and, subsequently, the fact that his mouth is bruised), grinning widely, which almost makes Poison miss the opening to bean him with his pillow again. Kobra falls back on his bed with a loud “oof”, but he’s making choked wheezing noises that Poison realizes a second later is him stifling laughter. “Finally figured it out, huh?”_

_“Fuck you,” Poison squeals, face burning. He smacks Kobra with the pillow over the head a few more times, Kobra halfheartedly trying to block the blows, giggling wildly. “He had t’ kiss_ me _first, fucko, I wasn’t gonna figure it out. You’re an_ asshole . _” He gives Kobra one last two-armed hit with the pillow before collapsing next to him on the mattress, breathing hard. “You’re his best friend, you could’ve at leas’_ told _me. ‘Stead’ve lettin’ me pine forever,” he says grumpily, crossing his arms in lukewarm indignation. He aims a cursory kick at Kobra’s ankle._

_Kobra rolls towards him, throwing an arm across his shoulders to give him a squeeze. It’s warm and comforting and Poison almost leans into the touch until he remembers that he’s pretending to be mad at him and makes a huffy noise._

_Kobra’s still laughing a little into his shoulder. “He tol’ me not t’ say anythin’. An’ so did you. Couldn’t break Ghoul’s trust, or yours, y’know that. ‘Least neither ‘f you knew.” He still sounds cheekily self-satisfied, so Poison flails a hand in his direction, successfully catching him in the face — which only has the effect of making Kobra burst into more snickers, undermining the point._

_“I know,” Poison says, even more grouchily. But half a second later, his face breaks into another uncontrolled grin, and he buries it in Kobra’s mattress._

_Kobra pats his shoulder, somehow managing to seem both smug and sincere. “Congrats,” he says cheerily._

_If it’s possible, Poison’s face flushes even redder where he’s hidden it. “Thanks,” he says, a little shyly. And smiles again. Kobra scooches into his side, using his hand to brush Poison’s hair down like he used to do when both of them were living together in the City. Poison wraps his arms around his brother’s waist, pressing his face into the hem of Kobra’s shirt._

_“I still hate you,” he says, closing his eyes and tucking a little closer._

_“I know,” Kobra says placidly, and continues to pet Poison’s hair._

_*_

_Poison stirs, the room around him still midnight-dark, not completely sure what woke him. That is, until a finger jabs him in the ribs. He just bites back a yelp, squirming away. Ghoul makes a displeased sound when Poison’s elbow catches him in the side, rolling over on the bed next to him and throwing a slack arm over his waist._

_Poison opens his eyes to see Kobra’s face right over his own, eyes wide and shadowy, ever-present sunglasses shoved in his hair, so close that Poison can just about make out every freckle on his brother’s nose, and this time Poison can’t quite stop a squeak of surprise from escaping. Kobra just smiles at him. “Got somethin’ t’ show ya,” he whispers._

_Poison nods to show he understands, and Kobra smiles again and tiptoes to the door. After carefully extracting himself from under Ghoul’s arm, murmuring “sorry, sorry,” when it makes Ghoul shift and make another blurry noise like he might be waking up, he tucks the blankets back into place, padding across the dusty tile floor to where Kobra is hovering in the doorframe._

_He shuts the door gently, turns to see Kobra bouncing on the balls of his feet. “What ‘s it?”_

_“C’mere,” Kobra says, grabbing his hand and yanking him through the Diner’s main room to the front entrance. He pulls Poison all the way to the corner of the outside wall, then stops and holds his hands out in a “ta da” motion. “Look!”_

_There’s a snake on the bleached red surface, long and dusty, patterned with dark brown patches all along its body. A small pink tongue darts out of its triangular head, and it writhes, scooting a few more inches up the wall. Poison blanches and tugs Kobra back by the collar of his jacket. “‘Sn’t that a rattlesnake?”_

_“No, look, see, ‘t doesn’t have a rattle. ‘S a nightsnake!” Kobra points at the snake’s skinny body, and Poison notes that it is indeed rattle-free. He relaxes a bit, taking a cautious step closer to look at it._

_“‘S pretty cool.” He tilts his head. “This what you woke me up for?”_

_Kobra deflates a little. “Yeah?”_

_Poison bumps his brother’s shoulder with his own. “No, ‘s r’lly neat. Don’ worry ‘bout it.” Kobra smiles, and Poison smiles back. He knocks their shoulders together again. “Hey, tell me ‘bout this kinda snake. What’s it do?”_

_Kobra’s face lights up, and he starts pointing out features of the snake, explaining that it’s harmless to humans, that it eats lizards and frogs and mice, that it has these big blotches behind its head, see, and that’s how you can tell it’s safe, and it’s a female ‘cause the males are smaller than this, Party, isn’t that cool? And Poison just leans into his shoulder and lets him talk as much as he wants, humming in affirmation occasionally, sometimes asking him another question that spurs another spout of information. The snake seems content to be gawked at, docilely clinging to the wall as Kobra gestures at it._

_When the sky is just starting to lighten, Poison gets an idea, and nudges his side with his elbow lightly. “Hey, we should get Ghoul’s Polaroid. We can take a picture ‘f it so you can keep it.”_

_Kobra grins at that, so Poison hurries inside to his and Ghoul’s room, giving Ghoul’s shoulder a gentle shake where he’s rolled into the warm hollow on Poison’s side of the mattress. “Ghoulie — baby, can we use your camera?” he asks in a stage whisper. He takes Ghoul’s sleepy hum in response as affirmation and carefully retrieves the camera from its place wrapped in a scrap of fabric in the corner of the room, leaving Ghoul with a thank-you kiss on the cheek._

_He proudly presents it to Kobra, who proceeds to excitedly take a bunch of photos from different angles of the snake, which tolerates the continued attention with only a single wiggle that takes it further up the side of the Diner._

_By the time the sun is actually peeking over the horizon, and the snake slithers off into a hole in the ground near the cracked pavement at the base of the wall — at which Poison makes a mental note to give the Girl a talk about being careful around wild animals — they have a stack of polaroids and two tired smiles between them, and Poison doesn’t even mind that he missed four hours of sleep that he’ll have to now make up with coffee._

_Kobra will tape the photographs around his bed with scribbled sharpie captions and a more-fully-awake Ghoul will pretend to complain about the use of his photo paper and Jet will ask Kobra a million questions about the snake that Kobra will happily answer and when the Girl begs to see where the snake went Kobra will take her outside to look at the burrow it crawled into. It’s not a particularly unique memory, but Poison will still come back to it from time to time, and Kobra’s pictures of the snake will still be up on the Diner walls the night the Fab Four go into the City._

_*_

_Poison bounces into Kobra’s room, jumping onto the mattress and shaking Kobra until he groans and rolls over._

_“Mnhgh.”_

_“Up!” Poison insists, slapping wherever he can reach. Kobra yanks his pillow over his head._

_“Why? An’ why are you up b’fore me, th’ fuck?”_

_“‘Cause ‘s your birthday an’ we all have a surprise for you!” Poison beams when Kobra sits up, giving him an incredulous look._

_“I thought we weren’t doin’ birthdays?”_

_“That was ‘fore we knew when everyone’s was. ‘N’ th’ Girl always gets one, so I figured we could start havin’ parties an’ stuff. C’mon,” he tugs at Kobra’s shirt sleeve. “Ghoulie was gonna make pancakes but I tol’ him that neither of you was workin’ today ‘cause birthday ‘joy gets th’ day off, so Jet’s makin’ ‘em.” Poison’s grin gets wider at the cautious delight blooming on his brother’s face._

_Kobra follows him out into the main room of the Diner, where Ghoul immediately abandons the magazine he’s reading at the counter to hurl himself at Kobra. “Happy birthday!”_

_“You too,” Kobra says, throwing an arm around Ghoul’s neck and patting at his shoulder with the other, Ghoul’s enthusiasm seeming to infect him a little. He’s starting to grin. He looks over at the kitchen, not trying to wiggle out of Ghoul’s octopus hug quite yet. “Morning, Jet.”_

_Jet cheerfully waves a spatula at him, flour smeared over his cheek. “Happy birthday. C’mere, this ‘s part of th’ surprise.” Kobra disentangles himself from Ghoul and walks over, looking curious and sniffing at the air, which already smells heavenly, in Poison’s opinion: sugary and bready and sweet at the same time. His mouth falls into an “o” shape when he sees, eyes going wide, and he looks quickly over at Poison, and then back at Jet, like he’s sure it has to be a joke._

_“Are you guys serious?”_

_ “Yes!” Poison throws his arms in the air, grinning like a lunatic. “We got blueberries for th’ pancakes!” He can’t restrain himself any further, really, because he’s been planning this day for literal months and all of the surprise stuff was for his brother, things that he  knows Kobra will like and he’s been waiting for ages to get to see his reaction. “An’ we’re havin’ a party! A small one,” he amends, because he of all people knows that Kobra and big crowds don’t mesh. “Jus’ th’ crew. But we gotta cake, that Newsie’s gonna bring by later, an’ I radioed Cherri ‘n’ he’s gonna pick you up this afternoon an’ take you out for your birthday! Surprise!” _

_Kobra’s face breaks into a huge, beaming smile, the kind that’s on the rarer side for him and Poison’s favorite thing to see, just like he knew it would, and he hugs Poison tight, smiling into his shoulder. “Thanks,” he says, and his voice is hitching. Poison squeezes him as hard as he can manage, smiling just as hard back._

_Kobra gives him a quizzical look when he pulls back, glancing around the room at Ghoul and Jet’s matching smiles. “Tha’ all sounds like stuff for me, though. ‘S Ghoul’s birthday, too.”_

_Poison’s smile doesn’t drop, Ghoul gently putting a hand around his waist and resting his cheek against his upper arm. “Th’ party’s for both ‘f you, an’ th’ cake, y’know. Ghoul ‘n’ I are doin’ somethin’ tonight. Jet’s got plans with Pony. So ‘s all good!”_

_Kobra’s face relaxes back into happy excitement, and Poison can’t help but feel a little bit proud of himself._

_Later, when they’ve gotten their pancake breakfast and they’re sitting on the floor (not at the table, at Poison’s insistence that eating on the floor makes it more of a party) having the cake that Newsagogo brought — storebought, like one might find in a Batt City grocery, and Poison isn’t sure if he wants to know where she got it — Kobra flops down beside him, holding a heavily iced slice of chewy white baked dessert on a piece of cardboard acting as a plate. Cherri’s on his way, having called a few minutes prior and assuring that he would be over in about a half-hour. Kobra smiles at him, hair falling in his face, smearing icing on his mouth when he takes a bite and hums happily. He looks young. Really young, and Poison reaches over to brush the strands behind his ear._

_“So. Nineteen.” Poison doesn’t mean to speak, but it spills out, softly. Kobra looks over at him and Poison flushes, shoving a chunk of cake and icing into his mouth._

_Kobra’s face softens. “Yeah. We’ve been out here a long time, huh?”_

_Poison snorts, leaning on Kobra’s shoulder. “‘S a good thing, though. Jus’ kinda can’t believe you’re all grown up now. Like, for real. ‘S weird.”_

_“Yeah.” Kobra makes a face. “Don’t feel nineteen.” Poison laughs, something he didn’t know was there lifting from his chest._

_“Know what you mean. I don’ feel twenty. Feel sometimes like ‘m still fifteen tryin’ t’ keep us from freezin’ or goin’ hungry.”_

_“Lot ‘s changed since then.” Kobra says through another mouthful of cake._

_“It has.” Poison looks over at where Ghoul is holding the Girl in his lap, talking softly with Jet while rubbing soothing circles against her back as she naps. His heart squeezes a little bit. “‘S all good stuff, though.”_

_Kobra’s expression shifts, vulnerable and open, and he sets his cake down, scooting closer to give Poison a hug. “Thank you,” he says, quietly enough that the others won’t hear. “Not jus’ for th’ party.”_

_Poison blinks against the sudden wetness in his eyes, surprised at the tightness welling in his throat. “‘F course. Fuck, ‘f course, Kobes.” He buries his face in Kobra’s shoulder, feeling Kobra rock them back and forth gently._

_“I love you. Thanks for bein’ my brother.”_

_“I love you too.” Poison squeezes him a little harder. “Happy birthday.”_

_Kobra’s answering smile lights up the room for long after he’s left for the evening._

*

Poison can’t remember a time without Kobra. He was too little to remember when his brother was born, and for his entire life Kobra has just been  _there_. Poison’s heard stories about amputees having phantom pains where a limb they no longer have used to be. He figures that must feel a lot like this, this gaping hole where something vital has been violently ripped away. 

A lot of their childhood memories feel strange — like they’ve been tainted by something that shouldn’t be there — and fuzzy with age. Vague recollections of bland, unflavored ice cream in the summer and walking to school hand in hand from their family apartment in sector two.

_Kobra in the park near their apartment building — very small, probably only four or five — kicking a pile of browned, crunchy autumn leaves that somehow haven’t yet been swept out of sight by the City, gasping in wonder as they explode into a confetti that swirls through the air around him like snow, and Poison, six years old but already old enough to know that the draculoids wouldn’t like it if they saw, glancing around to check for witnesses before joining his brother._

If everything else feels like being gutted, not having Kobra with him feels like forgetting how to breathe. Poison tries to shove the feeling to the back of his mind, but it’s so wrong and unfamiliar that everything else feels off-axis by proxy.

_Kobra, the night they saw their first sunset in the Zones, crushing Poison’s hand in a grip so tight it’s making the bones of his palm shift, and when Poison looks over at him he’s caught in an expression halfway between exhilaration and trepidation, orange and pink streaking over the highest points of his face like fresh paint._

Even before they met Jet Star, before they met Fun Ghoul, Poison and Kobra had always been together. Even being as insubstantial as he is, Poison’s body keeps reacting instinctively, turning to and reaching out for someone that just isn’t there.

_“You did it, holy fucking shit!” Poison’s screaming right in Kobra’s ear, but Kobra doesn’t seem to mind because he flings his arms around Poison in return, covered in dirt and gravel, the edge of his Good Luck helmet digging into Poison’s back through his jacket. Poison doesn’t care, though, ‘cause Kobra’s grinning like a maniac and he’s just won his first Crash Track race and he’s clinging to Poison like no one else in the crowd really matters — and they_ don’t _, because this is his_ brother.

Poison shakes himself, refocusing on his goal: the first building he’s seen in over a day and a half. As Poison approaches and the sun sharpens behind it, his heart jumps into his throat. It’s WKIL.

He bursts into a full-on sprint, and Poison’s not sure if space and time warp or if he just loses track of everything because he’s terrified and excited and  _Destroya_ , he’s going to get to see their Girl again. He’ll get to see Dr. D and Pony and maybe even Cherri and they’ll have the Girl and she’ll be safe. Poison knows his crew’s sacrifice was worth it — anything would be worth it, if it kept even one member of his little family alive, and even if Poison won’t be able to touch her, he’ll be able to  see her, and that’s suddenly the most important thing. Making sure she’s okay.

The soul physics question gets answered when he reaches the porch and phases right through the door. Of course,  _fuck_ , he can’t interact with literally  _anything_ , that’s just fucking peachy. It’s not important, though. Not right now.

Show Pony’s in the front room, curled into a ball on the radio station couch, entirely motionless where they would normally be a whirlwind of color and energy. Poison’s nonexistent heart does a funny thing where it tries to rise and sink at the same time, and he can’t help but feel a little ill at the thought that they — Poison and his crew — could’ve done this. Of course, though. it’s only been a few days. And all four of them are dead. 

“Sorry,” he says out loud, voice soft, though naturally Pony doesn’t even twitch — because Poison is fucking dead and can’t interact with the living world anymore even though he has to be stuck in it. He places an incorporeal hand on Pony’s head, wincing when it passes right through and withdrawing it quickly. “Sorry,” he says again, even though he knows Pony can’t hear him. “We had to.” His voice cracks, and he swallows. “Y’know we had to.”

He reluctantly leaves Pony on the sofa and wanders through the rest of the station. Dr. Death-Defying is in his broadcast room, not saying anything, though the ON AIR sign is blinking. There’s not even any music playing, the record player silent and dusty in the corner. It makes Poison’s heart ache even more sharply to see the Doctor so still and quiet. He takes a deep breath and turns away. There’s not anything he can do for his living friends now. His crew knew what they were signing up for. They knew they probably weren’t coming back alive.

There’s no sign of Cherri in the station. That makes sense, in a way. He has his own place, and, though Poison tries to block the thought out, his brain points out that Cherri’s probably at the Diner. Mourning. Mourning for  _them_ , all four of them. Poison grits his teeth and breathes as steadily as he can and wishes for the millionth time that he could just cry so the heavy ball of grief sitting behind his sternum would stop hurting as awfully as it does.

It’s not until Poison’s been through the entire building that the realization hits him. Panic, hot and cold and feeling like an electric shock, grips him so hard he has to sway on the spot and pant for useless breath for a second before he’s running back through the station. He looks everywhere he can think of, tearing through every inch of space in WKIL, making two full circuits of the radio station before he’s forced to face the truth.

The Girl isn’t there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have any questions or just want to talk to me about this fic or my other writing or danger days or literally anything, my main blog is @ghostxraven on tumblr!


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